


thinking only autumn thoughts

by elithewho



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, Romance, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: The annual MACUSA Halloween party leaves Graves feeling put out. Luckily a mysterious, masked stranger is there to make his night worth it.





	thinking only autumn thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to Morgan. All for you, bb <3
> 
> Title is from _The October Country_ by Ray Bradbury.

If there was anything Graves hated more than holidays it was celebrating holidays. Especially through the act of partying. His parents had often held parties, which he wasn't allowed to go to until he was old enough to detest them. The socializing, the drinking, the dancing. His mother had forced him to learn how to dance properly and then he had to show off his skill with one society witch after another. A purebred put through his paces at a dog show.

MACUSA held a company ball at the president's mansion every year on Halloween, and higher-ups were required to show up and join in the holiday cheer. Graves usually found an excuse to beg off, schedule a vacation or declared himself simply too busy to attend.

"You're Director of Magical Security," Picquery said to him, clearly irritated. "You can't keep playing hooky like you're still a trainee auror."

"I never played hooky in my life," Graves grumbled.

"I expect to see you there on Saturday night, no excuses."

Graves really didn't see the point. Company morale, international magical relations and all that nonsense, but he knew he wasn't a popular boss or likely to foster good relationships with magical emissaries. He didn't know what sort of morale he was meant to inspire.

Still, he didn't want to provoke more of Picquery's ire. He would show up, suffer, play nice, and hopefully sneak away before too long. He did not intend to dress up.

Apparently this made him stick out more than if he thought to put on a ridiculous costume.

"Who are you supposed to be?" said a waitress holding a tray of champagne and wearing cat ears.

"Myself," he grumbled, and this made her giggle. He snatched a flute of champagne from her tray so vigorously that some of it splashed on his hand.

As he dabbed at his damp sleeve, annoyed, Picquery emerged from the crowd. She was dressed as Marie Antionette, bloody neck wound and all. Graves decided to refrain from telling her that the late queen was certainly not dressed in a ballgown and powdered wig when she was executed.

"You didn't wear a costume," she said, tone clipped.

"I was told to show my face, not with a mask on it."

"It's a Halloween party, Graves, Mercy Lewis --" She was cut off by the arrival of the Swedish Minister for Magic dressed in what appeared to be a No Maj baseball uniform.

"A dance, Madame President?" he intoned with a flourish and a bow.

Picquery shot Graves a look as if to say, _Have fun, or else,_ before gliding away with her hand on the man's arm.

Graves downed the remainder of his champagne in one gulp and went in search of more alcohol. There was plenty on one of the huge banquet tables, practically groaning under the weight of so much decadence. The hall was resplendent in glittering cobwebs, fake mist, and colonies of live bats screeching in the rafters. He knew he was supposed to find the atmosphere spooky and seasonal, but it just depressed him. Too reminiscent of the lonely attic where he played during much of his childhood. Graves poured himself a goblet of blood red punch, wincing at the sour, fruity taste as he took a sip. There were hors d'oeuvres made to look like severed fingers or cute ghosts with large eyes or black cats, the latter of which were charmed to blink and whip their tails at him as he picked one up to examine it. But Graves wasn't feeling hungry. He finished his punch and poured himself another glass.

There were people he was meant to be socializing with to make this appearance worthwhile. The booze helped a little, but he still hated the stilted introductions to various heads of states, the titters from his colleagues about his lack of costume. There was a band in one corner and a mass of brightly costumed figures swaying in time to the music.

"Care for a dance, Percival?" said Mercy Kinkaid, the Director of No Maj Liaisons. She was dressed as Cleopatra with a live snake coiled around her arm. Or perhaps it was just charmed to flick its tongue out and snap its tail.

"No," he said stiffly, tearing his eyes away from the cloth-of-gold brassiere she was wearing as a top.

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, tonight of all nights!" She laughed and held up her punch too excitedly, spilling it on her arm. "Oh, whoops!"

She was usually such a professional woman. Graves didn't like this side of his colleagues, cutting loose and having fun. Maybe that did make him a spoilsport.

Luckily, Mercy was distracted by a young man dressed as Mark Antony, and Graves sidled away to the sound of her peals of laughter. His obligation done, Graves considered going home at last, but in his haste he all but ran into Picquery, out of breath from the vigorous two-step she'd been dancing with the Swedish Minister.

"Not so fast, Graves," she panted. "You're representing MACUSA tonight, I don't want to see you leave early and make us look bad!"

Graves frowned. He thought he would make MACUSA looked bad with his sour attitude whether he stayed or not, but he wasn't going to argue with her. She flounced off to the dance floor and Graves went to find himself a corner to lurk in. But even in his shadowed hiding place, he could still feel the eyes on him. The awkwardness of being visible, of being seen, the shouts of laughter and gaiety that surrounded him made the sweat gather on his hairline and under the heavy black coat he still wore. He despised crowds, the social obligation of seeming like he was having a good time, the pressure of so many eyes and faces turned towards him. Even if he knew that they weren't paying much attention to him, absorbed in their own dancing and partying, he still felt on display. It was a torment.

"That's no way to look at a party," said a voice very close to his shoulder, and Graves startled. 

"Excuse me?" He turned to look at the woman who had spoken.

In the low light, he could only make out so much of her appearance. Her face was obscured by a half-mask studded in black sequins, and every other part of her sparkled too, from the glittering powder she'd put in her blonde curls to the gauzy, diaphanous butterfly wings she wore. Her dress was translucent too, slung low across her breasts, patterned with leaves.

He tore his eyes away, blushing. 

"You look all grumpy."

"I don't like parties," he sniffed.

"Well, that's fine, but sulking in the corner isn't going to lift your spirits, is it?"

Graves bristled. Was it fine? Even Mercy had called him a spoilsport. He looked down at her, at the way her painted lips curled in a soft smile. She had a dimple in her cheek.

"What do you suggest I do?" he mumbled, hands deep in his pockets.

"Let's find somewhere a little more private." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and she slipped one small hand around his arm, tugging lightly.

Graves allowed her to pull at him, away from the ballroom and all the prying eyes, into a door draped in black and silver streamers. Her sparkling wings dazzled in the dim candlelight, winking in the even gloomier light of the next room.

 _"Lumos,"_ she muttered and the candles sputtered to life.

They were in what looked like a library, not decorated for the party. Huge bookcases lined the walls and the deep burgundy leather chairs were gathered around an enormous fireplace. The woman waved her wand again and the fire leapt up in a cheerful crackle, flooding the room with warmth and light.

"It's much nicer here," she said with a grin. "No more crowds."

Graves was grateful to be away from all those people, but he still felt a prickle of anxiety. He could see the woman more clearly now. At first, he had thought she wore nothing under her dress, crisscrossed over her body like a loose robe and entirely see-through, but now he could see a peach-colored brassiere which somehow felt even more intimate than if she had been naked. The skirt of her dress was made of tufts of gauzy fabric, ripped and tattered artistically.

"You like my costume?" she said a cheeky wink that had him blushing all over again.

"Are you supposed to be anything in particular?"

"Titania, silly. The Fairy Queen."

"Oh." Graves wasn't sure how he should have guessed that, based on her outfit.

"You're not dressed as anything," she remarked.

Graves sighed deeply. "So I've been told," he said with a frown. "I dislike holidays."

"I noticed," she said with a giggle. "You know, Halloween is for being someone else for a night."

"I'm perfectly content being me."

"You sure?"

Graves frowned deeper.

Titania sidled closer, laying a hand on his arm. "I could tell the crowds were making you nervous. I just couldn't stand seeing someone not having fun at a party."

"How charitable of you," he said with a grunt, pulling away and sinking into one of the chairs by the fire.

"Surely there are things you do for fun," she continued, unperturbed.

Graves had to think. "I enjoy my work. And reading. And... music."

"I love music!" she exclaimed.

"But I don't enjoy dancing," he shot back, and she giggled.

"Not even in private?"

"Ridiculous."

Still laughing, she flitted away to some far corner of the library while Graves stared into the fire. He was _supposed_ to be socializing, ingratiating himself with politicians. He couldn't bear the thought of it. There was some banging and clanking in the corner where Titania had disappeared, and then she emerged into the pool of light dragging an enormous phonograph.

"Surely you're joking," Graves muttered.

"Never!" She waved her wand and the thing groaned to life, belting out a waltz. She held out her hand.

"I can't dance," he said quickly.

"Liar."

Graves fidgeted awkwardly, thinking back to private lessons he'd been forced to take. Truth be told, he had enjoyed some aspects of them. He always relished mastering a skill; he could still remember his dance tutor vividly, how she'd managed to teach him how to glide across the dance floor and even do some fancy moves like dip his partner or give her a twirl. But his confidence had quickly shattered when he had to perform at an actual ball, surrounded by people. Staring, judging, laughing at him.

"Come on," Titania muttered coaxingly. "It's just us."

So it was. Graves got to his feet and took her offered hand. Although it had been many years, he fell back into the correct stance at once, letting the music guide him. She was light in his arms, and not nearly as tall as his formidable dance tutor, Madame Papillon, had been. Following his lead as they began to turn in tight circles to the slow groan of the phonograph, Titania's smile grew ever bigger as he swept her around, narrowly avoiding the bookcases and chairs that surrounded them. 

"I knew you'd be a great dancer," she said in a low voice.

His mind had been on the dancing, but he looked down at the sharp glitter of her eyes through the holes in her mask. He couldn't make out the color. He wondered if he knew her. MACUSA had so many employees it was impossible to be acquainted with everyone and Graves kept to himself, generally. He thought she looked vaguely familiar, but he wasn't sure.

"No need for names tonight, honey," she muttered, and Graves looked at her in surprise. Something kept poking at his mind, pushing ever so gently. 

"You're a legilimens," he said, more sure than ever as she began to laugh before he'd spoken.

She must be an auror, he thought privately, with that sort of power. Her eyes twinkled mysteriously behind her mask. The phonograph crackled and switched over to a new tune. This one was even slower than the first one.

Titania nudged closer, her body tucked tight up against his front as his feet slowed to a near standstill. He still held one of her hands, the other tucked around the small of her back. She smelled sweetly of something he couldn't place. Spicy and velvety, like cloves or carnations, he thought as she laid her head on his shoulder as they slowly rotated. When her glittering hair brushed his cheek, Graves was strongly reminded of how long it had been since he'd held a woman in his arms. Years and years. A small, hollow part of him ached and he quickly beat it down, lest the legilimens in his arms feel his intense yearning.

The song came to an end and she looked up at him, smiling broadly. "Wasn't that fun?"

Graves could only nod. She was giggling now, biting her lip impishly.

"What?" Graves mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.

"Here --" She reached up and brushed a hand across his cheek; it came away coated in silver glitter. It must've rubbed onto his face from her hair.

The next song was cheerful and fast and Titania tugged him by the hand, whirling him about in time with the music. Caught off guard, Graves stumbled over his feet before catching his balance. He let her spin him around a few times as she laughed wildly until the song ended and she pulled away, out of breath. Graves could feel the color high in his cheeks and wished he could suppress it.

"We need more drinks," she announced. "You stay here."

Graves was more than happy to oblige. He collapsed onto one of the leather armchairs again and waited for her to return as the phonograph struck up another tune. Outside, beyond the heavy embroidered curtains, Graves could see the full moon, russet orange in a sea of twinkling stars. The candles guttered and danced as the door opened again. Titania bore two goblets of dark green liquid.

"Absinthe," she said, pushing one into his hand. "Perfect for a night like this."

Instead of taking one of the other chairs, she perched herself on his knee. Graves knew his face must be reddening, deepening to a burgundy to match the leather chairs. He sipped at his goblet, the sharp anise flavor of wormwood making his nose tickle. She was a warm weight on his lap, sinking closer to him as she settled in, drinking deeply from her goblet.

"Perfect drink for a green fairy," he concurred, hand brushing the edge of her viridian wing. As her body vibrated with her low giggle, Graves felt heat clench deep in his groin.

"Nobody was laughing at you, you know," she said a soft voice, close enough to his ear that she could nearly whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I just read everyone, I can't help it, and no one was laughing at you. They felt bad that you looked so sad."

Graves frowned, looking away from her glinting eyes through her mask, unconsciously winding a strip of gauzy fabric from her skirt around his finger. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better," he mumbled.

"I'm not lying," she said with a small frown.

Rather than respond, Graves finished his drink in one gulp despite how it made his throat burn and his head spin.

"You're too scary to laugh at," she said, but before he could answer, she slipped a hand around his tie, tucked carefully into his waistcoat, and tugged on it. "Dance with me." She leapt to her feet.

Graves, on the other hand, stood much more slowly, hoping she wouldn't notice his prick, half-hard in his trousers. The phonograph wailed and he pulled her into his arms, careful not to push too close against her. It was easy to forget about the rest of the party, all those hateful eyes, with her in his arms.

They danced until the phonograph ran out of songs and Titania waved her wand to start it up again. With the absinthe in his blood, her body close to his, Graves felt increasingly warm. He took off his thick coat and danced with her until his feet ached, letting the music wash over him, his feet moving fluidly, like he had never left the ballroom at his childhood home with Madame Papillon. Titania seemed to inch closer without him even realizing; soon she was flush against him again. He was sure she could feel his hard-on, unflagging as they spun around, but she said nothing. His mouth dry, skin buzzing, he didn't want to pull away.

"My feet are killing me," she said at last, slightly out of breath.

"It's late," he said, checking his pocket watch. For the first time, he actually didn't want to leave a party and hadn't spent every moment thinking about the clock.

"No way are you going home this early," she said, tugging at his tie again.

"This is early to you?" It was past midnight.

"Every hour before dawn is too early when you're at a party," she said with a wink. "The moon is so beautiful tonight. Let's find somewhere to stargaze."

With her arm looped through his, they left the lovely seclusion of their hiding place. In the ballroom, the party was still in full swing. Guests had consumed enough alcohol to lose all inhibitions, Graves noted. Colleagues and heads of state he was familiar with, very cool-headed, professional people, were draped over each other, howling with laughter or sobbing hysterically in equal measure. He followed Titania across the floor to the other side, gripping her small hand. She charmed a few bottles of liquor to follow them from the banquet table before exiting.

Various rooms beyond the ballroom with populated with guests drinking and chatting or entwined in amorous embraces. He was sure he saw Mercy Kinkaid in her gold brassiere wrapped around Mark Antony in a dark hallway.

Up a winding staircase they went, following the light of Titania's wand. Graves was dizzy from all the dark rooms they past, long hallways stretching into the gloom. At last, they found the perfect spot. A conservatory, its glass ceiling providing a perfect view of the moon and stars. 

_"Nox,"_ Titania whispered, extinguishing the light from her wand.

Surrounded by trees and plants, some glowing with magical luminescence, Graves had to admit it was a lovely place to sit and watch the sky. He spread out his coat on the tile floor and Titania curled up next to him, head tipped to the heavens. She cuddled close, wrapping her arm around his and laying her glittering head on his shoulder.

"There's magic in the full moon," she whispered. The calm and tranquility of the place seemed to befit hushed voices.

"There is," he muttered, finding it hard to tear his eyes away from her smooth white cheek.

The orange red glow of the harvest moon turned the light inside the conservatory a deep, burnished amber. Magic fireflies danced in tight figure eights through the air, attracted to the glowing pink roses. 

"My parents had a Halloween ball every year," he said in a soft voice, longing to cup her pale cheek, to push off her mask so he could see her face clearly. "I wanted to go so badly as a child, but they always shut me up in the nursery. By the time they let me attend, I was dreading it."

She tipped her head towards him, her eyes catching the light like two flashing blood garnets. 

"By then I was just a – a thing for them to parade around," he finished bitterly, unable to hold her gaze.

"I know how that feels," she said in a soft voice. Her hand around his arm slid lower, encompassing his fingers.

He looked back at the sky, the moon glowing like a bright penny.

They lapsed into silence as Graves brooded. Titania opened one of the bottles of clear liquor and they passed it between them, taking deep sips that burned on the way down. They drank, chatting occasionally, until the sky began to lighten.

"Let's go out and greet the sunrise," Titania whispered in his ear. Graves shivered at her closeness, nodding sharply.

They made their way through the now quiet house, hand in hand. Every room held guests sleeping in piles or gathered together on the floor or low couches, chatting and snickering softly. In the ballroom, the Swedish Minister for Magic was passed out on the banquet table, using the tablecloth as a blanket.

Out on the lawn, very pale light suffused the scene. There was a chill in the air as Titania urged him down to the edge of the lake. Clouds hung at the horizon, but they were already gilded with fierce orange threads. Thick clumps of mist floated over the water, still as glass. They found a patch of soft grass and Graves spread out his coat again, not caring about stains.

She laid practically on top of him, one leg thrown casually over his own, hand curled up on his chest. Her hair was in his face again, but he didn’t care how much glitter rubbed off on his skin this time. He brushed it gently off her forehead. Despite the fact that he hadn't slept all night, he didn’t feel that tired. He felt wonderfully content being so close to her. His cock was hard against her leg, but he didn't care.

The sunrise came slowly, piercing the sky with sharp golden light, burning away the mist on the lake and dousing them both in brightness. Titania lifted her head to look at him, smiling sleepily.

Graves brushed her cheek with his thumb, nudging the edge of her mask. "Let me see you," he muttered. 

She allowed him to remove the mask, revealing wide grey-green eyes and tawny gold eyebrows. She was as pretty as the rest of her face had suggested, but he didn't recognize her. "I have served you coffee before, you know," she said with a little giggle.

"Coffee?" Graves repeated in confusion, still tracing her face with his fingertips, memorizing every contour.

"That's what I do at MACUSA, silly."

"You serve coffee," he said. He'd expected… something different for her.

She frowned. "Don’t look so disappointed. What's wrong with serving coffee?"

"Nothing, I thought --"

"My sister Tina's the auror, Director Graves," she said, still looking put out.

"Goldstein," he said at once, putting the pieces together.

"She's the career gal, not me." She looked away, smoothing a hand over her skirt.

"There's nothing wrong with that," he said sincerely, and when she looked back at him, eyes shimmering, he added, "And please, call me Percival."

With the new sunlight gilding every curve of her face with fire, she leaned in and brushed her lips softly against his. He smelled carnations again. Her tongue darted out to tease his lower lip and he groaned, hips rising to rub against her.

They broke apart; Graves reached out to cup her cheek. "I don't know your name," he said.

"Queenie," she said with a smile.

"Ah. Queenie, Titania, I get it..."

She kissed him again, his mouth opening under hers eagerly as he pulled her closer. He felt the gauze of her dress under his palms give way to the satiny feel of her stocking as he touched her thigh. She was entirely on top of him in an instant, leg pressed firmly against his erection. He heard birds beginning to chirp as they roused from sleep.

Queenie tugged at the buttons on his shirt, his tie and waistcoat long removed. Graves moaned as she moved against him and he flipped her gently, laying her carefully on his coat. When she shivered in the cool air, he whispered a minor warming charm, helping her with the layers of transparent fabric. He kissed the bow between her breasts on her pink brassiere, and again, lower, on the matching tap pants. Queenie brushed his forehead, smoothing away the hair and lightly scratching his scalp. He tugged off her underwear, hands shaking only just.

Her breath hitched as he parted her thighs, leaving her garters and belt where they were. She was warm and wet as the morning dew as he kissed her, drawing out sharp cries intermingled with breathy giggles as his stubbled cheek brushed her thigh. 

Afterwards, he collapsed at her side, kissing her warm face.

She smiled at him, cheeks glowing a warm pink. "Dancing's not your only talent," she said, breathless, pulling him down for a messy kiss.

He was still painfully hard, and he rubbed unconsciously against her hip.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, hand slipping between them to fumble open the buttons of his trousers.

As she took him in hand, Graves couldn't suppress the desperate moans that escaped him. He came hard into her palm, hips shuddering and jerking fervently. Then it was her turn to kiss his hot cheeks and damp eyelids. He pressed his face onto her neck, smelling her perfume and sweet skin.

"You can't say holidays are no fun at all, can you?" she said after a long while of laying in his arms. The sun was higher now, the pink blush of the sky fading into robin's egg blue.

"Not all bad, no," he conceded, suppressing a huge yawn as he did up his pants. He brushed a golden curl off her face, still sparkling with traces of glitter.

"I'm starving." Her luck wasn't as good; she mimicked his yawn with gusto.

"Me too," he said. "I know a good breakfast place." He usually went there alone, to read the paper and have a coffee on Saturday morning.

"I need to get dressed first," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Tragic." He cupped the naked swell of her hip.

She playfully punched his shoulder, giggling. "And people say you have no sense of humor."

"People say that?" Graves muttered, brows knit.

"You're not honestly surprised, are you?" she said mildly, standing up on wobbly legs to pull on her dress. It didn't do much to cover her nakedness.

"On second thought, maybe I can get breakfast delivered," he said thoughtfully, knee cracking as he struggled to his feet.

"Breakfast in bed sounds delightful," Queenie said with a grin, and he pulled her close for another kiss. She tasted like the new dawn.


End file.
